The only difficulty, after all, is, that the keeping of the Sabbath and the imparting of religious instruction is not made enough of a home object. Parents pass off the responsibility on to the Sunday-school teacher, and suppose, of course, if they send their children to Sunday-school, they do the best they can for them. Now I am satisfied, from my experience as a Sabbath-school teacher, that the best religious instruction imparted abroad still stands in need of the co-operation of a systematic plan of religious discipline and instruction at home; for, af ter all, God gives a power to the efforts of a parent that can never be transferred to other hands."

"But do you suppose," said I, "that the common class of minds, with ordinary advantages, can do what you have done?"

"I think, in most cases, they could, if they begin right. But when both parents and children have formed habits, it is more difficult to change than to begin right at first. However, I think all might accomplish a great deal if they would give time, money, and effort towards it. It is because the object is regarded of so little value, compared with. other things of a worldly nature, that so little is done."

My friend was here interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Fletcher with the children. Mrs. Fletcher sat down to the piano, and the Sabbath was closed

with the happy songs of the little ones; nor could I notice a single anxious eye turning to the window to see if the sun was not almost down.

The tender and softened expression of each countenance bore witness to the subduing power of those instructions which had hallowed the last hour, and their sweet, bird.like voices harmonized well with the beautiful words,

"How sweet the light of Sabbath eve,

How soft the sunbeam lingering there;
Those holy hours this low earth leave,
And rise on wings of faith and prayer."

SO MANY CALLS.

A SKETCH.

It was a brisk, clear evening in the latter part of December, when Mr. A-returned from his counting-house to the comforts of a bright coal fire and warm arm-chair in his parlour at home. He changed his heavy boots for slippers, drew around him the folds of his evening gown, and then, lounging back in the chair, looked up to the ceiling and about with an air of satisfaction. Still there was a cloud on his brow: what could be the matter with Mr. A? To tell the truth, he had that afternoon received in his counting-room the agent of one of the principal religious charities of the day, and had been warmly urged to double his last year's subscription, and the urging had been pressed by statements and arguments to which he did not know well how to reply. "People think," soliloquized he to himself," that I am made of money, I believe; this is the fourth object this year for which I have been requested to double my subscription, and this year has been one of heavy family expenses-building and fitting up this housecarpets, curtains-no end to the new things to be

bought-I really do not see how I am to give a cent more in charity; then there are the bills for the girls and the boys-they all say that they must havя twice as much now as before we came into this house: wonder if I did right in building it?" And Mr. A glanced up and down the ceiling, and around on the costly furniture, and looked into the fire in silence. He was tired, harassed, and drow sy; his head began to swim, and his eyes closedhe was asleep. In his sleep he thought he heard a tap at the door; he opened it, and there stood a plain, poor-looking man, who, in a voice singularly low and sweet, asked for a few moments' conversa. tion with him. Mr. A asked him into the parlour, and drew him a chair near the fire. The stranger looked attentively around, and then, turning to Mr. A- presented him with a paper. "It is your last year's subscription to Missions," said he; “you know all of the wants of that cause that can be told you; I called to see if you had anything more to add to it.”

This was said in the same low and quiet voice as before; but, for some reason unaccountable to himself, Mr. A-was more embarrassed by the plain, poor, unpretending man, than he had been in the presence of any one before. He was for some moments silent before he could reply at all, and then, in a hurried and embarrassed manner, he be.

gan the same excuses which had appeared so satisfactory to him the afternoon before-the hardness of the times, the difficulty of collecting money, family expenses, &c.

The stranger quietly surveyed the spacious apartment, with its many elegances and luxuries, and without any comment took from the merchant the paper he had given, but immediately presented him with another.

"This is your subscription to the Tract Society: have you anything to add to it; you know how much it has been doing, and how much more it now desires to do, if Christians would only furnish means do you not feel called upon to add something to it ?"

Mr. A

was very uneasy under this appeal, but there was something in the mild manner of the stranger that restrained him; but he answered that, although he regretted it exceedingly, his circumstances were such that he could not this year conveniently add to any of his charities.

The stranger received back the paper without any reply, but immediately presented in its place the subscription to the Bible Society, and in a few clear and forcible words, reminded him of its wellknown claims, and again requested him to add something to his donations. Mr. A- became impatient.